I nestle down onto the forest floor, letting out a satisfied sigh as I lean back against the bark of the oak at my rear. Arching my back carefully I keep from nicking myself-- though it'd only add one more to the bunch. You see, I've just wrapped up a day's work, routing a group of bandits from the woods outside of Aurum to keep them from making the roads any more treacherous. The billowing clouds in the West, an omen foretelling increased demon-kind activity in the region, is foreboding enough without human intervention. I'm sure 'Elyia the Axe of Teluvia' will be called upon then too. Scatter-brained, a bit gullible, and aloof as I may be, I'm nonetheless capable.

Though before you grow to concerned none of those folks so much as laid a finger on me, the wounds I've sustained are all modest cuts from fumbling around the brush, dodging sword swings and arrows, more a nuisance than anything worth fretting over. The fatigue of 3 jobs in a row without rest is far more troublesome.

The pole-arm of my heavy axe is sat across my splayed, supple legs. The mythril-edged utensil appears far too heavy for me to wield by muscular might alone, a bit of magic what allows me to use such a weapon. I stand several inches shy of six feet, pale skin still erring towards a milk white, defiant of the long hours spent in the sun. Atop my head stand two rabbit-ears, the same faded-blonde color of the straight hair which hangs down about and frames my face. At a glance, my features don't indicate my life as a mercenary, something I've taken great lengths to preserve.

From a small pouch affixed to the pommel I produce an odd trinket, gylsroot holding together a fixture of crystal and stone, emanating a blue light as it hears my voice.

"I'll be by soon, the highwaymen are dealt with. I'm hurting bad though." Of course, I don't mean I'm injured, flush rising in my cheeks while my perky chest rises and falls, tenting my blouse.

But I know you know that.

There we have it! Elyia, fierce warrioress when a job demands it, whimpering submissive when her lover(s) asks it of her. I quite enjoy this dynamic of 'person one would assume is dominant is actually a raging sub,' so that is what I'm looking for.

That brings us to you, however! You can be, well, just about whoever you like. One obvious option is the herbalist-healer or witch-doctor who will both tend to my wounds and give me the touch I'm aching for, though perhaps you're another person entirely. Hell, maybe you're merely a friend I've confided in and I'll soon head off to get my rocks off elsewhere, perhaps with you in tow.

Whatever it is, please make it original! That's all I ask. Your usual smattering of fantasy races are all on the table, as are those demon-kin, half-breeds, or whatever outright monster you might devise. Should you like to know more about me, please consult my DPP Profile.

I hope to hear from you, Elyia is eager for your company!